


break me better, so i won't mend

by meritmut



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Body Worship, F/F, Female Kylo Ren, Scars, Sub Kylo, Submissive Kylo Ren, another day another shirtless scene, mildly graphic description of injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 06:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13898115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meritmut/pseuds/meritmut
Summary: No one will ever call her beautiful.No one has ever called Rey beautiful, either.





	break me better, so i won't mend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kimaracretak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimaracretak/gifts), [aionimica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aionimica/gifts).



> title from 'undone, undress' by marika hackman

The scar is a gruesome thing, this close.

It begins over her right pectoral, a handful of inches above the soft pink of her areola. Opposite her heart, perhaps, Rey thinks as she studies it, if she could be sure Ren had one. She follows the uneven line of it with her fingertips, watches the knight’s jaw clench with the effort it takes to remain still under her questing touch.

Kylo sits on the side of her bed, her body curled in upon itself as though ashamed of its half-nakedness. She’d been changing when the bond awakened—it is a small kind of mercy that she hadn’t stripped entirely, everything below the waist still safely hidden from Rey’s wandering gaze.

Her torso and arms are bare, though, a shivering knot of thick muscle and sun-starved skin and taut, fearful need.

No one will ever call her  _beautiful,_ but there’s something about the coiled animal grace of her that tugs at the place below Rey’s navel, makes her want to put her fingers all the places her eyes can’t look away from.

(No one has ever called Rey  _beautiful,_ either.)

She traces the path of the scar up through the muscle of Kylo’s chest, following it into the dip below her clavicle. The bone had put up no more resistance than the flesh: the wound cuts cleanly through it, carving a channel all the way up the side of her throat to her jaw, splitting her cheek an inch or two from the flushed fullness of her red mouth.

“Hey,” Rey murmurs, lifting one hand to gently raise Kylo’s chin up. “Alright?”

There is a plate inside her jaw now, fusing together the bone that was split when the lightsaber tore her face. Rey traces her thumb over the knobbly patch of flesh there, feeling for herself the evidence of her work. Spurred on by a tender whim she dips down to press her mouth to it, a fleeting kiss that makes Kylo close her eyes and release a shuddering sigh as the tension falls slowly away from her shoulders.

She  _is_  beautiful, then; so beautiful, all miles and miles of white skin and pink scars and unexpected softness Rey could— _wants to_ —lose herself in. Her hair is coming loose from the thoughtless knot she’d twisted it into, dark curls feathering around her shoulders and the narrow lines of her face. The skin below her eyes is a mess of bruises: the scar cuts through it, bisecting the pale nothing of her sightless right eye and coming to a pointed terminus above her brow.

Rey wishes Kylo could see it: how exquisite she truly is.

“Alright,” she says again, even quieter than before, when those broad shoulders start to hunch inwards once more. Rey puts her hands on them and presses down slightly, gives only a fraction of her strength to it but wonders if she gave it just a  _little_ more she could put the other girl flat on her back.

(She could, though. There isn’t a part of her that doubts Kylo would let her.)

Her thumb brushes over a scar, high on her right shoulder. A burn, smooth and pink with healing.

Rey looks down at it. She could cover it with her palm, if she tried. Not like the other ones.

“This is mine,” she says softly, and maybe there’s something mournful in her voice but she’s not sure even Kylo could believe it remorse.

But Kylo nods anyway.

Rey moves her hand from the knight’s shoulder, finishing the journey her fingers had begun when they marked the path of scarring from her breast up to her jaw. “This, too,” she lingers over Kylo’s cheekbone, over the fine scattering of moles there. They lie so near to that stripe of burned flesh: she was lucky not to hit them. She would miss them, she thinks, if she had.

Kylo blinks, the dark sweep of her lashes casting spidery shadows over her cheekbones. Her lips part slightly, trembling as she nods again.

 _Lovely,_ thinks Rey.

Her hand moves down again, her palm flattening over the place where Kylo’s heart thumps away beneath layers of fat and muscle and bone. There’s a faint translucency to her skin here, these parts of her that have never seen the light of day; a star-chart of freckles and purplish-blue veins laid out across the pale rise of her breast. Rey splays sun-browned fingers over the galaxy mapped out on her skin.

“This,” she breathes.

Kylo looks up, drawing an unsteady breath. The pupil of her right eye is clouded with white, the way it’s been since Rey put a lightsaber through it. She thinks it makes her ugly, Rey knows. She’s always been an unsightly thing, mismatched features and stark colouring and hungering eyes: the scar that maims her only finishes the job.

 _(Monster,_ she told herself, the first time she looked at her reflection after it happened.)

The other pupil is dilated, blown black with a desire she cannot find the words for. Her hands shake with it. Her heart races under Rey’s palm.

 _Perfect,_ says the steady warmth of that touch.

She draws a breath. Nods her head for a third time.

 _Mine,_ says the bold light in those hazel eyes.

“Yes,” Kylo whispers.


End file.
